


The Hawk's Eye: The Definitive Interview

by bergamots



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, complete with pictures from the mustang's private album, written in the style of a vogue interview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bergamots/pseuds/bergamots
Summary: “People seem to forget that my job is primarily to protect my husband.” From Cadet to Lieutenant-Colonel, Riza Mustang is quickly becoming a symbol of the ‘modern working woman’ in Amestris. Violet Whittaker sits down with the woman who is something of an enigma to the Amestrian public eye, and listens to her open up about the difficulties of a double career and on working with her husband.





	The Hawk's Eye: The Definitive Interview

**Author's Note:**

> by Violet Whittaker for PRIMA Magazine (photographs supplied by Riza Mustang)

Busying herself away in the kitchen as she gathers ingredients for a ‘quick afternoon tea’, it is hard to picture Lieutenant-Colonel Riza Mustang as a steely bodyguard when she manages to get flour on her nose.

The wife to Führer Roy Mustang - who insists on being ‘just Riza’ – is dressed comfortably in their homestead on the outskirts of Central. She talks strategies as she measures out flour and butter – and no, not the kinds of strategies that involve reconnaissance and expertly protecting her husband from harm’s way.

“I’ve actually written out how I ought to deal with people when they first realise who I am,” she admits as she rubs in the butter with her fingertips, “because unless you’re quick about engaging them as one person to another they then start to slip into this strange space where they see you as an external sort of being.” And that ‘being’ is a household name in Amestris and beyond; despite taking her husband’s name when they married last spring, the name ‘Riza Mustang’ still draws less recognition than her maiden name. “It’s quite strange, because when you say ‘Roy Mustang’, people immediately know who you’re talking about, but as soon as you say ‘Riza Mustang’ there’s absolutely no recognition.”

I ask her if the anonymity is appreciated, and she nods, tucking her hair behind her ears as best she can with her knuckles. “I’ve never been one to actively seek the spotlight,” she says, laughing a little, “but I married a man who thrives in it. Go figure.”

In the flesh, Riza is at once ordinary and extraordinary. Her simple style lends her an air of informality that does not bely the strict hierarchy she works in – there is no hint of authority here in the Mustang home, not certainly as she prepares a pot of tea and goes about making scones for the two of us to eat. She waves off the idea of becoming a housewife fulltime – “I think I’d go crazy if I didn’t have my job to keep me on my toes!”

Riza Mustang does not fit the current mould of society girl that so many critics expected the Führer to marry.  She is not wafer-thin by any stretch of the imagination: years of working in the military have given her a physique that could quite easily incapacitate even the burliest of men; but she does not go out of her way to flaunt it. She is a study in restraint and modesty; a refreshing change from the previous administration that tended to parade the wealth and encourage the extravagance of the upper echelon. Here, on their modest five-hectare estate on the western outskirts of Central, the Mustangs’ live a lifestyle that is not meant to be enjoyed from the outside in; rather, it has become a small sanctuary for them to exist without the demands of a country on their shoulders. The security here is a major step back from the fortress that the late King Bradley created for his family; but Riza stresses that is simply because they have no children to be worried about.

I ask her if they have any plans to add to their family (which currently consists of her and Roy, and their two dogs, Black Hayate and Elizabeth). She shakes her head as she cuts the dough onto the tray, ready for the oven. “I’m sure there’s some people who would argue that position is already taken by Roy – and sometimes I have to agree with them. Besides, I need to earn my pay check somehow,” she teases. “What’s the point in me being his personal bodyguard if I have to have a bodyguard of my own?”

Despite her light-hearted deflection, there is a heavy weight to her words and the exact nature of her job as Führer Mustang’s primary bodyguard. His approval ratings might be through the roof, but it does not give the legendary ‘Hawk’s Eye’ any room to breathe regarding assassination attempts. “There’s every possibility that tomorrow is going to be the day where I am going to risk my life to save his. There’s no point in praying that it never comes, because one day it will – even if he’s longer the commander-in-chief.” It is a stark reminder that Riza has the pressure of performing not only one, but two jobs: the one she is paid to do, and the one she chose to marry into.

It is no easy feat being married to the Führer, Riza confesses quietly as she whips some cream. “There’s always another engagement you have to fit in, another meeting that you can’t delay for another time. It’s incredibly hard, having to say to someone that their problem, while _very_ important, just isn’t as important as someone else’s.”

Some would say that she is living the dream, being able to keep her job and spend most of her day working alongside her husband: Riza makes a face at that as she serves the scones and tea. “People seem to think that my husband is an _easygoing_ sort of man – that’s certainly not the case when you get to his passion projects. He can be as stubborn as I am, and that doesn’t work to my advantage when I have to order him around.”

This not the first time I have had the pleasure of interviewing either of the Mustangs’, and this time proves to be no less enjoyable. Riza’s capacity for expression goes against the oft-persisting (and entirely incorrect) rumour that she is distant and aloof: rather, the woman takes her time in considering every question before she answers, in often long multiclause phrases that allow for her to revise and edit her ideas. It is the behaviour of someone who knows how easily their words can impact on someone – someone who has learnt the value in less meaning more. That philosophy can generally be applied to her as a person, too: Riza can best be described as a woman with very little want for more than what she already has. There are no flashy displays of power or class here: in fact, the only accoutrements Riza wears are the rings on her left hand, and small pearl studs in her ears.

The house and furnishings also reflect this simplistic, minimal aesthetic. The only real signs of inhabitancy are the various dog toys strewn around the floor and stacks of paperwork piled high on a desk in the corner of the open plan kitchen-cum-living room. There is also a small bouquet of freesias and peonies carefully arranged into what looks like a coffee mug on the windowsill in the kitchen – an old inside joke, she finally answers with a soft smile.  

Both the Mustangs’ are notoriously quiet when it comes to questions about their shared past, and this interview proves no different. “It does get frustrating when we get the same questions over and over again,” she divulges, after taking a long sip of tea. “It doesn’t matter what kind of people Roy and I were back then – what matters is the kind of people that we are now. If we wasted our time  on focusing on the past, we wouldn’t be where we are today.”

The smell of freshly-baked scones even convinces the Führer to come out from whatever part of the house he was in, their dogs nipping at his heels. Roy Mustang is a surprisingly informal man out of the uniform, wasting no time in playfully teasing his wife’s baking prowess and pleading with her to make him a quiche for dinner. She deflects him with the air of someone who has long had to deal with this kind of incessant prodding that one might expect from a child – “We’re having dinner with your friends, remember-” “When did this happen-” “Last week when you said we needed to have dinner with them?”

Between working a fulltime job, accompanying the Führer to all his social engagements and making sure that their household is running smoothly, I ask the Lieutenant-Colonel whether she ever gets a chance to merely breathe. The two look at one another before bursting into laughter.

“Not really, no,” Riza answers.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u enjoyed this little ditty! it was a fun writing challenge (tho guiding the narrative was super duper weird haha!! i've always imagined the mustang presidency to have shades of the JFK era in terms of cultural impact and so i'm always so inspired by the candids and "relaxing at home" photos that came from that era!!!


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